


Stranded

by chibiVeneficus



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Loneliness, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 11,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibiVeneficus/pseuds/chibiVeneficus
Summary: After crash landing on an alien planet, Sunstreaker must survive until someone stumbles across his distress beacon.At least he's not alone.





	1. Day 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://comradewodka.tumblr.com/post/68805015072/on-prime-sunny-and-bob), and I've based Sunstreaker mostly off of this [concept art](https://www.deviantart.com/theminttu/art/Sunstreaker-Movie-Concept-128397094) and the size difference based on [this art](https://chibiveneficus.tumblr.com/post/54926658258/londonprophecy-shafau).
> 
> please note: Sunstreaker does not have a twin in this fic.

He woke to system errors and the acrid feel of smoke filling his intakes. Everything hurt. He forced his aching frame to stand despite its protests, battle systems hastily onlining as his memory core supplied his last few moments of consciousness, but a quick scan showed he was alone. Fire surrounded him and licked at his plates, and he quickly pat himself down to kill any stowaway embers seeking to ignite.

A massive fireball erupted from where the flames were thickest, the shockwave throwing him aft over helm and into a quick reboot. Flying debris pelted him, adding to his already impressive collection of dents. He tucked into a defensive ball and rolled to a stop, unfurling only when no more explosions seemed forthcoming.

The center of the flames, when his optics managed to focus on the bright spot, was the melted carcass of a spaceship.

The spaceship that he had been riding in not too long ago.

Sunstreaker looked over the burning wreckage and cussed.


	2. Day 2

In the event of a ship crash, protocol dictated that surviving crew was to set up a distress beacon after making sure there was no Decepticon presence in the area. Sunstreaker didn’t bother checking; he was sure none of the cons had managed to survive the explosion of their ship, much less atmospheric reentry. While waiting for the flames to die, he attached a small transponder to the highest, closest tree still upright. Not ideal, but he could always move it in the future.

By midday, the wreck had cooled enough for salvaging. Sunstreaker carefully made his way through what looked to be the airlock and set his sights on storage.

The hallways were an unfamiliar, melted obstacle course. The ship had been relatively small by Cybertronian measures, and its compact nature worked against him while he tried to orient himself. It didn’t help that he’d never bothered to download the ship map, and he hadn’t been onboard long enough to memorize anything more than the route to the bridge and the fuel dispenser.

Storage, when he managed to find it and get in, proved to be useless. Everything that could have been of use had been burned to ash. All the extra ammunition, first aid kits, the portable solar energon converter, all destroyed. The room holding the energon reserves must’ve been shot through in the first round of surprise fire; otherwise the explosion when the ship had crashed wouldn’t’ve happened.

Sunstreaker checked the bridge next, figuring that there might be something worth salvaging from the heavily shielded computers. He managed to pry a few circuit boards from the bridge’s consoles that were only a little singed. The capacitors and resistors looked in working order, and the communication station’s amps didn’t look damaged. With time and luck he could do something with them, like boost the beacon or even build a radio transponder.

Crew quarters proved more fruitful. Outback had stashed an energon scanner in his cubbyhole and while its corners were melted, it turned on without a problem. Cy-Kill’s quarters hid a small but well-stocked emergency medical kit. The cooling packs had popped but that had saved the rest of the medicines from melting. None of the detailing products he’d unsubspaced and left in his own room had made it. Unsurprising but still unfortunate.

The pile of salvage goods was depressingly small. It would have to do until someone came across his SOS. All he could to do now was wait and survive.

What a mess, he thought as he looked his frame over, scowling at the char. Now that he had the time to notice, he was in desperate need of a full frame maintenance. But, loathed as he was to even think it, such niceties would have to wait. His supply of paints had burned with everything else, and the sole tin of wax he still had wouldn’t last long if he used it for every scuff. Best to get himself situated first then see if he could find anything that would work as acceptable substitutes.

The sun was dipping low over the mountainous horizon by the time he finished picking over the ship’s remains. Sunstreaker decided staying in the wreckage for the night would be the safest course of action; the closest cover around was only a few straggly trees. A line of hills ringed the distance but who knew what lurked in the grass between them and the ship. Strange sounds drifted in through the hatch and the noise made his plating twitch.

His inbuilt weaponry was too risky to use with energon supply an unknown factor. He kept a thick metal pipe close at hand and settled down for an uneasy recharged.


	3. Day 3

The planet had energon but that was just about all the miserable rustball had going for it. Sunstreaker cussed his way through the thick, metallic brush and the spindly stiff grass, slowly working his way in the direction his portable energon scanner was blipping. If only the energon reserves hadn’t blown when the ship had crashed - then he wouldn’t be in this wretched situation.

That wasn’t entirely correct; if only that random Decepticon scouting ship hadn’t happened upon them at the worst possible moment. This end of the galaxy was suppose to hold a few neutral trading posts and not much else. Their mission had been to do a quick flythrough to check on a relay buoy that had gone silent, and that’s when the Decepticons had dropped out of warp right on top of them.

The only consolation was that they had taken the Decepticons down with them. There had been a surprise pause from both of them as they took stock of the new situation before exchanging fire. Sunstreaker had only caught a glimpse of the enemy scout ship exploding before the screens had flickered off and their ship had been engulfed in flames. He’d been forced into transition form to survive the heat of reentry.

He’d been lucky; the other two crewmembers hadn’t survived. Outback had been cleaved in half by a broken support beam when he’d gone to the engine room to try and keep the sputtering engines afloat. Cy-Kill was most likely the melted slagheap in the pilot’s chair, killed when the front shield’s integrity had been compromised and bathed the cockpit with atmospheric fire.

He hadn’t been close to either of them but it was still disadvantageous that he was the only one left alive.

The blips from the scanner grew closer together and Sunstreaker came to a halt by a jagged cliff face. Tiny crystals of energon sparkled from up high. He scowled up at them, hoping the crystals he could see sticking out would have ones more accessible nearby but no such luck. He had to climb.

Hand, foot, hand, foot. Slowly he ascended the vertical face and tried not to think on how scratched his hands and feet were getting. He was already a mess; a few more scrapes didn’t matter, he tried to reason with himself. It was a cold comfort.

The energon crystals were thin and spindly, not too surprising since they were poking out of the rock, exposed to the elements. It wouldn’t produce much fuel but any fuel was better than nothing. Hopefully there were larger deposits nearby, in better condition from being sheltered in the earth. Looking would have to wait for later. He got to work working the fuel free.

Off in the distance was a familiar sound. Sunstreaker stopped picking at the crystals and upped his audio’s gain, listening hard.

_walalala--_

An insecticon? Here? “Well slag,” Sunstreaker muttered but turned back to keep chipping at the crystals. Its cries were distant so it posed no immediate threat. Fuel was more important. Shelter was also a priority; rescue could take months and he didn’t know this planet’s weather. He had no desire to stick around outside when it could rain acid on his head. There had been a few openings along the cliff face that showed promise. After securing the crystals, he’d check them out, and hopefully one would provide adequate shelter.


	4. Day 10

The cave was starting to feel, while not like home, at least like a reliable bolt-hole.

The entrance was half a head higher than him but grew higher after a few steps, and turned sharply after that, keeping the elements at bay. It opened into a large, mostly level cavern that he’d cleared of several stalagmites for space. He’d also drained a shallow pool and lined it with soft rushes for the times he didn’t feel like recharging on his wheels.

Brightly colored rocks lined the edge of his sleeping hollow, candidates for paint whenever he found the time to grind them. In the meantime they provided a bit of color to counteract the drab beige of the dark cave.

Odds and ends salvaged from the wreck and the surrounding debris field were organized into neat piles along the wall to be sorted through at a more convenient time.

A crude energon distillery, fashioned from metal scraps torn from the shipwreck, sat in the far back, well away from anything flammable. Smoke from the fire lit underneath drifted out of a natural chimney as it slowly melted energon crystals into their more easily ingestible liquid form. The resulting drink tasted foul and was fill of impurities, but it would keep Sunstreaker going for the time being.

All in all, not bad for what he had to work with.

Sunstreaker drank his small morning ration with a grimace and took stock of what he should be on the lookout for before exiting his cave. He stopped a few steps from the entrance and cocked his head, upping the gain of his audios as - yup, there it was again. The insecticon was still out there, its calls growing closer, and by now Sunstreaker was sure that there was only one. If there’d been another insecticon crawling around it would have answered its cohort’s cries from another direction.

Now the question of what Sunstreaker was to do about his bug problem. He couldn’t leave it out there to roam about; it could sniff him out and make him its dinner while he recharged or raid his cave while he was out gathering energon. Not to mention the smoke from his distillery made it easier for it to find him. He was going to have to deal with it sooner rather than later.

He checked his energon reserves. He had enough to two, maybe three shots from his inbuilt weaponry before running dry. Hand-to-hand was always an option and was his specialty, but insecticons were powerful foes. Sunstreaker was still recovering from the crash landing. He didn’t like his odds if it came down to a fistfight in his current condition.

One or two more days of ignoring it would be safe. Additional rest would only help his recovery and improve his chances of killing it.

If he had the opportunity for a sneak attack, he would take it. He wasn’t concerned with honor - that only got you dead.

Mind made up, he set out to scavenge.


	5. Day 15

Sunstreaker was so focused on following the trail of energon that he almost stumbled over the bug. He only just managed to stop and crouch back below the foliage before he was noticed.

The insecticon was a huge beast, like they all were. It limped along, energon sluggishly leaking from somewhere around its waist. Many of its spikes had broken off and the edges of its forwards plates looked a bit melty, suggesting that it had come down hot and rough. Its route looked aimless; its cries had been growing weaker and farther apart even before he‘d sought it out, and Sunstreaker wondered if it would soon die without his intervention. That would be problem solved.

He didn’t want to leave it to chance when he had this opportunity. Sunstreaker shifted his weight, charging his cannon for a quick shot through its lightly armored neck. It would be tricky with how the bug was hunched over, but if he was fast enough he could get under it for a clean kill.

He readied himself for a forward roll - and something under his boot snapped.

Of course it heard. It immediately swerved to look and spotted him. It fluffed up its armor, a grinding-hissing sound emitting from its chest. It would have been intimidating if the sound hadn’t trail off in a quickly muffled keen of pain.

Well, there went the chance for an ambush. Sunstreaker straightened to his full height, cannon and fist at the ready. Every part of his aching frame tensed in preparation for a fight.

The bug looked in no shape to battle but that didn’t make it any less dangerous. Cornered, wounded enemies were always the most risky to fight. But it didn’t lunge, didn’t make any move to attack. It stayed rooted in place, staring at him. Weird.

A proper pit stare-off, as Sideswipe would say. A pang of loneliness shot through him at the thought of his battle brother, still on Cybertron. But he didn’t have time to be distracted by mechs galaxies away and forcefully ended that thought-thread.

With the insecticon facing him, Sunstreaker got a better look at its wound. A heavy leak like that, it was amazing it was still moving. It couldn’t possibility last much longer, not without something to fuel on. It would deactivate on its own soon without Sunstreaker having to dirty his hands. It still made him uneasy to leave it be but, with the element of surprise gone, it was just too dangerous. He didn’t have a medic to patch him up if the fight turned brutal, and the little medkit he had was a precious, limited resource. He had to be smart about this if he wanted to survive until help arrived, and the smart thing to do was to just leave it to die.

Sunstreaker took a step backward, unwilling to present his back, and while it didn’t lunge for him, it still stared with an unnerving intensity. Another step, and another, and the undergrowth surrounded him and blocked the bug from sight. He’d lose it in the heavy foliage before making tracks back to his cave. The distillery would need to be doused until he could confirm the bug’s death, and he‘d need to stay extra cautious in case it managed to follow him. It still rankled him to leave things up to fate but the matter was out of his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunstreaker: Yeah no, I'm out.  
_[Exit, pursued by a bug]_


	6. Day 16

Of course it managed to follow him. Of course.

Sunstreaker hadn’t even known it had tailed him until the next morning after a fitful night of recharge. Waking up, fueling, reviewing his mental checklist -- his new routine continued as usual until he’d stepped out and there it was, all ten tons of deadly, wounded Decepticon bug, sitting just inside the rough perimeter of cleared grass around his cave. Sunstreaker’s battle systems onlined so fast they’d almost given him whiplash, his frame automatically falling into a ready stance despite the twinges of pain from the quick movement.

But it didn’t attempt to attack. It sat there, completely unmoving, staring.

Slowly Sunstreaker forced his frame to relax. If it hadn’t tried to kill him while he was vulnerable in recharge, he reasoned to himself, it wouldn’t attack him now that he was aware of its presence. It was still disconcerting to have a Decepticon so close by.

It stayed outside and didn’t try entering the cave which Sunstreaker was thankful for. It also didn’t try to approach him when he went about surviving. The bug stayed on the peripherals of his camp, watching, and if Sunstreaker wasn’t already so practiced in tuning out unwanted stares, he would have been scrubbing at his plating within an hour.

The damnedest thing was the staring didn’t _feel_ hostile. Sunstreaker was well versed in different stares: lecherous and antagonistic were most familiar to him, annoyance and fear close seconds. Its staring didn’t feel like any of that. If Sunstreaker didn’t know better, he’d say that the insecticon was curious, fervent even. 

What he did know was that it was weird and he didn’t like it.

But questions kept running through Sunstreaker’s brain. Why did it keep watching him? Why didn’t it just attack and give him the excuse to end it faster? In all his years fighting, he’d never heard of a non-hostile insecticion. Maybe whatever had injured it had knocked its common sense out in the process.

In the time the bug studied him, Sunstreaker studied right back. He’d never been so close to a bug without it trying to kill him. The organic design of its frame was as interesting as it was disgusting. Oddly enough, the bug didn’t have wings like the ones Sunstreaker was most familiar with, and it had actual optics instead of a band. He also noticed that most of its wounds were fairly old - the edge’s of the broken spikes were dull from exposure and the warped plates with melted patches bore signs of self repair. Only the injury on its waist seemed fresh.

How did it end up here? Just how long had it been on this planet?

It wandered off when the sun started its long descent to the horizon and Sunstreaker tried not to get his hopes up that it wouldn’t return. It did before full dark fell, lying where it could stare into the cave entrance.

Patience, Sunstreaker reminded himself. It was only a matter of time.


	7. Day 18

The plains the ship had crashed in went on for miles, only broken by the occasional tree and boulder. The spindly grass that filled the area grew a head taller than Sunstreaker and the near constant winds made the task of walking through it much harder than it had to be. By now there was a narrow path of bent stalks that lead to the shipwreck but the swaying grass hide it from view more often than not.

Dark was fast approaching, and Sunstreaker knew he had to get back to his cave fast. He probably should have stayed at the wreck for the night but leaving his bolt-hole for long sent a spike of anxiety through his lines.

Behind him was the heavy slow tread of his bug shadow. Another reason that urged him back to his cave. Honestly, how long did it take for an insecticon to bleed out.

A screech was the only warning before a huge black _something_ lunged from the grass. Sunstreaker whirled to face it, blaster transforming out but not fast enough. A clawed hand rushed towards his face, aiming to rip him apart --

The insecticon tackled him out of harm’s way, shielding him with its larger body. The monster swiped where he’d been but its claws only rebounded off of thick back armor. Sunstreaker, stunned from being knocked out of harms way and that the bug had done it to protect him, took a moment too long to pick himself up. In that time the insecticon faced the foe, hackles raised and rattling in a threat display.

The ever shifting grass parted, showing the hulking mass of the attacking predator. It was as large as the bug, dirty brown and yellow stripes with long white strands trailing from its face. It bounced on its front claws twice, the growl coming from it morphed into a scream and then it charged at them.

The bug returned with its own the screech, digging its clawed limbs into the ground to push off and counterattack. The racket of the fight was deafening but Sunstreaker didn’t dare to mute his audios. He stayed low and kept his blaster out, tracking the fight with a wary optic, poised to leap out of the way should the fight round on him.

It was over as quickly as it started. One moment the fight was a blur and the next showed the bug with its claws buried halfway through the monster‘s abdomen. When the bug took its arm back it brought along a good chunk of internal organs. With a wet gurgle, the monster slumped in on itself and stopped moving.

The insecticon swayed, let out a victory cry, and collapsed.

The silence was as deafening as the racket had been.

Sunstreaker eyed the bloody corpse, briefly debating whether or not to use precious energon to put a hole in the thing’s head to be sure it was a corpse. He noted the monster bleed what suspiciously looked like energon and the organs spilled across the ground a strange mixture of metal and organics. Something to explore another day when full dark wasn’t fast approaching and more of its ilk could be lurking nearby. He turned from the carcass to the bug.

Sunstreaker glared at the downed insecticon, confusion bringing his simmering anger to a boil. He aimed his blaster at it.

“Why did you do that?” he snarled, battle protocols still running on high alert.

It twitched and further curled up on its new wounds. It didn’t break Sunstreaker’s glare even as its optics flickered.

_“Why?!”_

“Protect swarm.”

“What?”

The insecticon slumped into stasis. Sunstreaker stared, anger transforming into bafflement as he tried to understand.

Did it have a glitch in its programming? Was that why it hadn’t attacked him and followed him like a lost turbopuppy? It somehow viewed him as part of its cohort even though it couldn’t possibly mistake him for being anything other than an Autobot. But what did it matter if it meant the insecticon would keep protecting him? He could use that to his advantage.

Sunstreaker crouched and quickly started taping up what ripped lines he could reach before common sense could still his hand. Two had a better chance of surviving than one after all.


	8. Day 19

Dragging the insecticon back the cave wasn’t possible. Sunstreaker was strong but he couldn’t lug ten tons of limp bug all the way there, and even if he _could_ have done that, he wouldn’t risk it just after being ambushed. He had to get it back on its feet, fast before full night fell.

He finished doing what basic first aid he could in the growing twilight and carefully tipped a precious cube of energon into the bug’s maw. Automatic systems made sure that the liquid was swallowed before it dribbled out onto the ground. That boost of energy was sufficient to online it just enough that it blindly stumbled after him to the safety of the cliffside where it promptly collapsed again.

Sunstreaker took a moment to just look at the insecticon. Disbelief crowded his thoughts before common sense quieted them. It was proven that, for whatever reason, the bug would risk its own spark to protect him, and if there were creatures bigger than the one that had attacked him, he needed that protection. At least until the rescue ship came; he could reevaluate with a bullet at that time.

No going back now. He grabbed the scant medical supplies he had and started repairs by firelight.

The claw marks were easy to get to. They were mostly mesh wounds that would heal with time and possibly leave ugly scars depending on how well the bug’s auto-repair worked. What proved to be the major problem were the wounds it had received on its abdomen. The armor was thinner there to help aid flexibility, and there was a nasty gash that traveled over several plates. If they healed wrong it would cut the bug’s upper frame mobility by a large margin, decreasing its ability to fight. He had to repair it carefully.

The sun slowly made itself known as Sunstreaker worked without pause. His systems nagged at him to recharge but what was one more sleepless night? He’d gone through worse.

Sometime between slathering valuable repair-nanites and wiping up energon to recycle, the bug onlined. It whined as it roused, the noise high-pitched and irritating against audios.

“Shut up,” Sunstreaker growled. He was in no mood for a headache.

It twitched at his words and again when it saw him so close but didn’t try to attack or get away. Instead it curled up into a tight ball, heedless of its wounds.

“Don’t do that! You’ll break the seals I just put on. And I still need to tape this last one close.”

There was one wound that was out of place amongst all the battle damage: a leaking fuel line just above the left thigh joint. It was the injury that had left a bloody trail leading him to the bug. The leaking line was pinched between two plates of armor which explained why it kept bleeding. And it would stay open if the bug kept trying to curl up.

“Stop twitching,” Sunstreaker hissed, his hands trying to force to plates width enough to grab the problematic line to tape it closed.

The insecticon hissed back but stopped trying to shy away from his touch. Now that it was cooperating, Sunstreaker managed to wrap the large leak and push the line back behind the plate’s protection.

“There. Done. Don’t move too much or it’ll tear open again.”

The silence was so tense that it created a whole new definition of awkward. Sunstreaker focused on putting the supplies away and not turning his back on the bug. He only trusted it as far as he could throw it, after all.

It didn’t move from its sprawl on the ground and started literally licking its wounds. Gross.

Well, whatever. As long as it stayed there and didn’t try to lick him, Sunstreaker could overlook its disgusting bug habits.

“Alright, ground rules,” Sunstreaker said once the medical supplies were cleaned up.

The bug stared at him, tongue hanging half-out.

“Do not come into my cave. You stay right out here.” He pointed at the ground for emphasis. “Do not touch me. Do not eat my energon. I can add to this list at any time. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” the insecticon said. It didn’t sound happy but Sunstreaker didn’t much care.

“Good. Then we shouldn’t have a problem.”


	9. Day 91

It hadn’t taken long for them to fall into a routine.

Sunstreaker would wake close to dawn and check on the distillery before taking stock of what items he should search for that day, assuming it was sunny outside his cave. When clouds threatened rain, he stayed safely tucked inside doing various tasks. The bug never seemed distressed from the showers but it was just too weird for Sunstreaker to chance. With a clear sky he’d venture out, and the bug would follow a few arm’s length to the side and slightly behind or in front, on the look out for any dangers.

The bug was turning out to be a valuable asset, though Sunstreaker would never admit it out loud. Its mere presence at camp kept smaller vermin at bay, and it turned out to be an excellent digger. Buried energon crystals that would have taken Sunstreaker hours to dig out were unearthed in mere minutes by big bug claws. Even with having to share the spoils, it was much preferred to digging with his hands.

There was a downside other than the whole Autobot/Decepticon war lurking in the background. The hostile native life often harassed them as they explored, more so than when Sunstreaker had been by himself. Probably had to do with the bug’s color scheme - the black and purple tended to make it stick out against the foliage’s light bronze color. Sunstreaker would fix that in the future, whenever he found an acceptable binder for paints and could get close enough to the insecticon without either of them freaking out.

It was getting easier to accept the bug’s presence. He still twitched when he realized the bug was close but no longer clenched his fists or transformed out his blaster. And just because the insecticon viewed him as ‘swarm’ didn’t mean it completely accepted him as another of its kind. Sometimes he’d see it flinch when it saw him out of the corner of its optic, its plating ruffling and a quiet hiss escaping its mandibles. It hadn’t acted on its first impulse but Sunstreaker was aware that his luck might not hold out.

The routine continued day after day after day as tension kept building on itself until it finally snapped. Looking back at the moment, Sunstreaker couldn’t remember what exactly had constituted as the breaking point. All that he remembered was that he’d had _enough_.

Sunstreaker swung, his fist impacting the tough hide of the insecticon, only leaving a stinging dent but it was enough. The bug reared back, more surprised than stunned, a hiss rattling from its chassis as it quickly jumped on him. It batted at his helm with a careless hand, making errors flash across his vision. Sunstreaker got his feet planted on its abdomen and pushed it off. He followed it, hands going for the thinner plates around the bug’s waist to try and get a secure hold for a grapple.

It twisted, its smaller secondary arms batting Sunstreaker’s hands away and acting as a distraction as it kicked out. Sunstreaker spun away from its leg and brought an arm up to defend against its return swing. He sprawled from the force of it, and the insecticon was on him again.

They traded more punches and tackles, but no energon was drawn in their tussle. Neither of them were aiming to do real damage. They rolled apart, vents bellowing hot air as they sprang into loose ready stances. Sunstreaker’s engine released a frustrated rev as they stared each other down.

“Why?” the bug asked and it felt like the tension snapping all over again.

“I don‘t know,” Sunstreaker bit out, words feeling weird in his mouth after so much silence. “I’m not sorry. We’re gonna be stuck here for a while. Maybe till tomorrow, maybe for the rest of our lives. I don’t know. We’re the only sentient things here and…” he trailed off, not really sure what he was getting at anymore.

An engine grumbled back at him.

“Look, just…Primus, I don’t know.” Sunstreaker covered his face, trying to keep his emotions from spilling out. He failed.

“…I don’t want to be alone.”

It felt like defeat, admitting that. Sunstreaker liked being alone, preferred it, but even he had limits to self-isolation. There was no rec rooms to people watch, no ventilations of a patrol partner that broke the silence, no idle chatter to listen to as he polished himself. Trying to recharge was hard because of the quiet; he’d never known how used to the background hum of systems he was until there wasn’t any.

There was only him and the bug.

It cocked its head, staring, maybe thinking over his words or trying to figure out the best way to bite his head off.

“Swarm,” the insecticon said, the single word full of conviction.

“You said that before. What does that mean?”

“_Swarm_,” it repeated as if repetition would make what it was saying clearer.

Sunstreaker still didn’t understand but was too wrung out to demand a better explanation. He sighed, rubbed a hand down his face. He didn’t feel better for this, only more tired.

The sun was halfway behind the horizon and the dangerous nocturnal wildlife would begin to prowl soon. They couldn’t stay much longer trying to figure this out now; they had to get back to the cave posthaste.

“Fine. Swarm then.” Sunstreaker shrugged. The bug chirred, a happy note to it, and dared to step up right beside him. “Come on, let’s get back.”


	10. Day 100

“Hold still!”

“Wet,” the insecticon grumbled, trying to shift away from Sunstreaker‘s fingers. It didn’t get far - Sunstreaker grabbed it by the scruff and dragged its head back down. He deftly left a stroke of yellow above it jaw and another up the length of one of its antenna before it jerked out of his hold.

Sunstreaker vented a frustrated sigh. “This would’ve been over already if you’d _hold still_.” He dab his fingers into the pot, noting that he would have to gather more of those yellow stones to grind. The paint he’d managed to mix up didn’t last long for large projects, and the insecticon wasn’t small. There was still a lot of plating to cover.

“This unnecessary,” the insecticon said but did settle down…for all of three seconds.

Sunstreaker throttled back an angry rev. “You stick out like a broken gear when we’re out on the plains. Do you want to keep getting attacked? I don’t have unlimited medical supplies!”

Mumbles answered him, and Sunstreaker managed to paint a few more flowing lines along its back before it twitched away again.

They were going to be doing this all day unless he did something to keep the bug still. Sunstreaker queried his memory cache and a possible solution presented itself.

There had been a sniper, practically a new-build, that had been stationed with his platoon at the Sonic Canyons for a vorn or two. Silverstreak, or Bluestreak, Somethingstreak, would often be found huddling in various small nooks, shivering in his plating and spewing apologies for disturbing everyone. The commander had finally pulled him off the roster but not before his behavior had deteriorated from bad to worse.

All the grunts had rotated through being his minder, each mech giving tips to the next on what worked to calm him, until the new-build had been reassigned to a more appropriate post that had the help he‘d sorely needed. Sunstreaker hadn’t been the best at soothing him, but maybe the technique he’d learn would help here. It was a long shot but, time aside, it wasn’t like he had anything to lose.

“Have you heard the story of the two hellhounds that quibbled over an energon fountain?”

The insecticon let out an inquisitive chirr. More importantly, it stopped trying to stealthily edge away.

“Many moons ago, back before much of Cybertron had been tamed, lived two hellhounds that roamed free and proud.” He kept his voice level and soft, using every ounce of patience he had to keep it like that. “One day in their adventures they decided to play in the nearby crystal forest. They tumbled and ran, hide and seeked the other. During the course of their play, they stumbled upon an energon fountain, pure and untouched.”

Like he’d hoped, the insecticon stayed rooted in place as it focused on the story. By the time Sunstreaker was wrapping up the fairy tale, long lines of yellow cut through the bug’s dark purple and grey base coat. Now when they had to travel across the plains there would be less likelihood of the local wildlife trying to ambush them.

“Done.”

The insecticon scrambled to the clearing’s edge and examined its new color. It wasn’t the best work Sunstreaker had ever done but it looked good for what he had to work with. 

Sunstreaker smothered the small fire warming the paint pot. He left it uncovered for it to cool and carefully cleaned his hand of remaining paint in the meantime, and tried to flick away the feeling of warm plating.

“Don’t lick it,” he said when he noticed a tongue peeking out. “Your nanites need time to adjust to the new base color so no touching of any sort until sundown or we’ll have to do this all over again.”

The bug grumbled but obeyed. And then did a double take.

“Like you!” it said, voice delighted as it looked between its arm and Sunstreaker.

The yellows were nothing alike to Sunstreaker, but he supposed they looked similar enough to the unpracticed optic.

“Yes, like me,” he replied and gently stacked his supplies to bring back into the cave. “Stay there, don’t move. I’ll bring you fuel once I’m done putting these away.”


	11. Day 102

“Bob.”

“What?” Sunstreaker asked, only paying half-attention as he carefully chipped at the energon crystal’s base. It was almost free from the stone and Sunstreaker didn’t want to risk dropping it. He also had no desire for it to blow up in his face. 

“My name. Bob.”

“Bob.” Sunstreaker drew it out until the single syllable became two long ones, ending it with a pop of his lips. “What kind of name is ‘bob’?”

“It mine.”

“I get that much,” Sunstreaker said. He deposited the crystals in his subspace and moved on to the next cluster. “I mean, it sounds kinda odd, is all.”

“It _mine_,” the insecticon, or rather, Bob, insisted. He plodded after Sunstreaker, keeping watch for any dangers and nibbling on stray chips of crystals too small to bother picking up.

“Yours?” the bug asked as Sunstreaker set to work on the next bunch.

“Sunstreaker.”

“Sunstreaker,“ Bob chirred back, the sound approving.


	12. Day 156

The cycle began like any other: rise with the sun, check on the energon that had been left to distill overnight, drink some to top off, inspect the supplies and catalogue what needed to be replenished or replaced. 

Sunstreaker got all the way down his mental checklist, subspaced his later-ration, and headed for the cave’s entrance only to stop in his tracks.

It was a turbofox. At least, its general outline _looked_ like a turbofox. It had too many spikes and tails to be mistaken as one for long. It lay in a suspicious heap just outside of the entrance of his cave.

Sunstreaker nudged it with his boot. It didn’t move. Dead then and not for long since it wasn‘t rusting yet. But why was it there? It was unlikely it had naturally died in that exact spot, just like all the other animals he’d had to throw into the distance for the past week, which meant…

“Bob! Where are you?”

A shuffling from up the cliff face and Bob’s face appeared from behind an edge. He jumped down, and landed pretty as you please a pace from Sunstreaker’s position. Sunstreaker was not impressed.

“Yes?”

“Why do you keep leaving dead things in front of my cave?”

“Gifts.”

Sunstreaker stared at Bob.

“’Gifts‘,” he repeated, disbelief dripping off the word.

Bob wiggled in place. “Yes.”

Sunstreaker sighed. Sometimes trying to get sense from the bug was like trying to pop dents out of your back with no help. Possible, but time consuming and frustrating.

“Ok. _Why_ are you giving me gifts?”

The insecticon’s happy motions paused. He tilted his head, considering, rifling through what scant Basic he had to try and explain.

“Gifts for swarm leader,” he said and started wiggling again.

Swarm Leader? Was its faulty programming acting up again?

“What’s a swarm leader?”

“Protects swarm. Leads swarm. Sunstreaker swarm leader,” Bob said. “Gifts for swarm leader.”

“So…you’re giving me these things because you think I’m the your leader.” Sunstreaker resisted the urge to face-palm.

“Stop it. I don‘t need you to give me dead things.”

“Gift,” Bob insisted and picked the carcass up to lay it directly before Sunstreaker.

The autobot grimaced and took a step back, but Bob only nudged the ‘gift’ until it was practically on top of his feet.

“Okay, okay, fine! _Thank you._ Happy?”

He had never seen an insecticon so delighted before. The whole of Bob’s body perked up and he wiggled harder than ever before. His plates rattled from the force of his happy.

“Yes!”

Primus help Sunstreaker, it was kinda cute.

Sunstreaker held back a gag as he pinched the very tip of one of the creature’s tails and held it at arm’s length to bring it inside. Maybe he could strip it for parts. He’d seen Bob eat creatures like these before and while the thought of putting the carcass anywhere near his mouth made his tanks threaten to purge, he couldn’t very well discard something that could be of use. Nearby energon deposits were becoming fewer and farther between, and the charge on his scanner was in the red. If he could make the local creatures into fuel, he needed to learn how, fast.

Plus, it would make Bob sad if he threw it away.

He resolved himself to more gifts in the future.


	13. Day 179

Sunstreaker woke with a jolt, his entire frame vibrating as combat systems forced him into movement. He rolled onto his feet, fists at the ready, and scanned for an enemy.

The glow of his optics revealed nothing but what he’d gone to recharge to. So what had - ?

A crashing boom reverberated throughout his cave. It shook various odds and ends, threatening to spill them from their places. Sunstreaker briefly thought it was artillery fire before common sense reminded him that couldn’t be possible. He shook off his initial thought and listened again.

**KAH-GOEO**, followed by a rumbling that went on and on.

Just a storm, then. A big one by how the thunderclaps sounded like they were right next to him through so much rock. There had been plenty storms recently, and the plains Sunstreaker were most familiar with had turned into a treacherous mud pit that threatened to swallow the unwary whole. He‘d been having a terrible time keeping clean too.

Sunstreaker moved to lie back down before a thought occurred to him - Bob was out there. Sunstreaker knew for a fact that Bob curled up just outside the cave’s entrance to recharge. He’d tried to convince the insecticon to habitat another nearby cave to no avail.

“Swarm,” Bob had said, his default answer to everything, and Sunstreaker had dropped the subject because he’d learned there was no arguing with that.

It was possible that Bob had done the smart thing and gone for shelter. But it wouldn’t hurt to look. He was awake already.

Sunstreaker made his way to the entrance. The rhythmic _shooosh_ of rain had his plates tensing though he’d learned early on it was harmless. The heavy downpour that greeted him at the entrance was so opaque he wouldn’t see farther than the end of his arm if he held it out. He only saw Bob because the bug was right there at the entrance, a huddled wet ball plastered against the side of the cliff. His legs were half buried in mud as water cascaded over him in a waterfall.

“What are you doing? Get in here!” Sunstreaker shouted over another deafening crash of thunder.

It wasn’t until Sunstreaker motioned him in that Bob uncurled from his miserable seat and made his way inside. He was hesitant crossing over the threshold but an impatient pull on his arm from Sunstreaker had him stumbling in. Bob had to crouch to get by some of the stalactites. At least he fit at all.

Sunstreaker could have done without the shaking splattering him with muddy droplets but at least Bob did so in the corridor leading to the main chamber.

Bob looked around the cave with keen interest, though not much was illuminated from the glow of their optics. Sunstreaker gave the same amount of attention to the insecticon’s large claws, waiting for something to be tipped over or crushed. But Bob seemed well aware of how much space he took up and moved slow and careful across the clear floor space. He even kept his claws to himself though they twitched towards various items.

“You can stay here until the storm quiets down,” Sunstreaker said, satisfied that Bob wouldn‘t break anything in the meantime. He shuffled back to his bed, system pinging to reinitiate recharge. He doubted he could with an insecticon in close proximity but waking up mid-charge always left him in a mood and it was better that he at least try. It would avoid any awkward attempts at socialization.

Bob chirred and set up shop near the back wall. He curled into a ball, optics still looking around with an eagerness Sunstreaker didn’t understand. It didn’t matter; between one thought and the next, recharge claimed him.


	14. Day 200

Sunstreaker was all out of clean cloths. He glared at the sad little pile of dirty rags, more dirt than mesh at this point, and full of holes. They’d had a long life and had done their job well considering their original purpose was for cleaning wounds. He considered throwing them into the fire pit.

As he eyed between the pit and the rags, he inadvertently glanced at his companion. Bob was curled up on himself again, head bobbing as he licked his thigh. Sunstreaker was use to the bug licking himself at this point but it was still gross to see. How did he even bend like that?

Bob noticed his stare. “Want clean?” Bob asked, tongue still half out and dripping with suspect fluid.

“Primus, that is _disgusting_.” Sunstreaker shuddered. The mere thought of having that tongue anywhere near his plates had him scrunching up to put more distance between them.

But it’d been so long since he’d been clean. Baths in the lake or showers in the rain only did so much without solvent and a scrub brush. His plating was in disgraceful shape especially when he took the time to compare it to Bob’s. The bug’s plates positively gleamed in the late afternoon sun while Sunstreaker’s own barely held any luster. It was a disgrace.

“Fine,” he finally conceded and held out an arm before he could rethink his mind.

Bob chirred a happy note. With a gentleness that was at odd juxtaposition with his massive, deadly claws, he grasped Sunstreaker’s forearm and brought it to his mouth to lap off the dirt.

“Urgh.” Despite what should have been a slimy residue left over from the lubricant instead quickly evaporated leaving behind shiny clean spots. Having a tongue lave his arm was a strange experience that he didn’t much like but it…actually wasn’t all that bad, once one overlooked everything about it. Bob was quick and efficient with his job, and didn’t go past Sunstreaker’s elbow.

“Okay?” Bob asked as Sunstreaker examined his now shiny forearm.

Like being waxed with something a bit more on the matte side than his preferred brilliant shine, Sunstreaker thought. It was still loads better than what his arm looked like before.

“Don’t leave a job half-finished.” Sunstreaker gave Bob his arm again as permission to continue. By his excited noises, Bob was delighted to do so.

The cleaning process took shorter than Sunstreaker expected. His beautiful golden yellows were revealed with each swipe, and it felt as if a tension he’d been carrying for so long was finally releasing. He’d known that appearing less than his best was a stressor for him but Sunstreaker hadn’t realized that it had been bothering him so much. He was (almost) alone on an alien planet. There was no one there to impress with his paint job! It shouldn’t matter but it still did.

Sunstreaker bore the cleaning treatment with silent dignity. What could one converse about in such a situation. Bob couldn’t reply anyway.

“Clean!” Bob declared after one last critical look-over.

The closest thing to a mirror they had was a tall piece of interior wall from the wreckage, meticulously scrubbed until a faint, soft reflection looked back. Sunstreaker hurried to it, Bob on his heels, and turned this way and that, admiring the view.

“Acceptable,” he finally awarded his polisher. “Thank you, Bob.”

The smile Bob rewarded him was so brilliant it could have powered a small city. Or have its citizens go running in terror.

“Welcome.”


	15. Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! wanted this to be all together. hope you enjoy!

Sunlit days grew short and the foliage brittle. The native wildlife became scarce and with them the opportunity to catch an easy meal.

The first snowfall had Sunstreaker refusing to step from his cave. Sunstreaker had heard of snow before, even had some bots in his previous platoon that had experience with the stuff, but _he’d_ never had to deal with it. Hesitant to do anything that might lead to injuries he couldn‘t repair, he’d cautiously poked a mound, grimacing at the cold wetness. 

Bob was much more nonchalant about it; he plowed through it like business as usual.

Not dangerous then unless Sunstreaker found himself trapped. He wasn’t rated for long exposure to low temperatures.

The snowfall didn’t stop and looked like it wouldn’t any time soon. Before long deep snow drifts made moving around near impossible and hid landmarks they relied on for navigation. It became too dangerous to go too far from the cave, then too dangerous to leave the cave at all. Fierce winds howled across the landscape, turning the familiar plain into a white desert.

Bob took one looked at the screen of white before turning back and curling up by the fire. Sunstreaker watched the raging snowstorm for a moment longer before joining him.

“What do we do now?” Sunstreaker asked.

“Wait.”

* * *

The cave was fairly insulated from the extreme cold blowing about outside but it still seeped its way in. When Sunstreaker asked how long the winter would be, Bob had merely shrugged.

Well, great. With no way of knowing how long winter would last, fuel for fire, and for food, would have to be sparingly used. Sunstreaker wasn’t eager to go back to starvation rations after so long off them but knew better than to assume the snowstorm would pass quickly. Even if it did, they would still have to wait for the wild life to reappear.

Sunstreaker didn’t think the muted cold would be too much of an issue. Annoying, yes, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He let the fire die off as he sank into recharge.

And awoke to the shivering of his frame desperately trying to warm itself. He’d underestimated just how much the ambient temperature would go down without a heat source. It still wasn’t cold enough to be lethal but comfort was right out the window.

A glance showed that Bob didn‘t have the same problem. Sunstreaker would almost think the bug was in stasis he remained so still, apparently unbothered by the cold. Sunstreaker tried not to be envious as his plates rattled. He’d learned quickly that it didn’t matter if he was in alt or not, cold was cold. At least in root-mode he could pretend that rubbing his arms for friction produced a little heat.

Sunstreaker glared at the dead fire pit like its heat could reignite it and didn’t notice Bob rousing from his spot, inching closer. Bob telegraphed his every move so slowly that Sunstreaker only jolted a little when Bob got behind him, crouched, and wrapped his arms around the Sunstreaker. Confusion had Sunstreaker speechless as his brain module tried to make sense of his current situation.

“What are you doing you daft bug?” he asked when he found his voice.

“Sharing warmth,” Bob answered. He curled even tighter, nearly engulfing Sunstreaker with his mass. It would have been claustrophobic if the wash of heat hadn’t been so much of a relief. His battle systems didn’t even rouse at being caged in such a manner.

“I don’t need you to nanny me. I’m fine, I’ll live.”

But even as Sunstreaker geared up to keep complaining, his shivers slowed until they ceased. Bob was a furnace against his body and Sunstreaker pressed into it until the entire span of his back was in contact with Bob‘s chest. Which was vibrating in unmistakable laughter.

“Shut up,“ he said, and resolutely ignored Bob‘s amused chuffs.

* * *

Bob wasn’t stupid. He only sounded stupid because he didn’t have the vocabulary or the grammar rules to fluidly converse in Basic. He had gotten better once he and Sunstreaker started communicating in more than single word grunts, but his talking still left much to be desired.

“Do you want me to teach you?” Sunstreaker asked when boredom threatened to drive him mad. He could teach someone the basics of hand to hand combat, he’d done that before, but he’d never tried anything with language. It couldn’t be that different. With the blizzard still raging outside, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

“Teach?”

“Basic Cybertronian. You talk like a virus chewed through your speech software.”

This was apparently a great offense. “Nothing wrong with talk!”

“No. Just your grammar is all wrong and you don’t seem to know adjectives exist.”

Bob thought on that.

“Fine. Sunstreaker teach. But nothing wrong with talk.”

Sunstreaker sighed. He regretted offering already.  
____

“This would be so much easier if I could just upload the language to you,” Sunstreaker said with a frustrated rev of his engine. In the beginning, he’d tried to find a compatible port hiding in all the usually places but whoever had designed the insecticons had forgotten to build any in their frames. It was a damn inconvenience.

“Sorry.”

Sunstreaker throttled back his engine. Anger wouldn‘t help any here. “Not your fault. It’s just annoying, is all. Let’s go over that last part again.”

The best way to help Bob’s speech skills, Sunstreaker found out, was to have him tell stories and then correct his sentence structure. It was slow going at the best of times. At least they made progress, no matter slow, compared to the disaster when they’d tried writing.

Bob did his best to explain Insecticon culture (and hadn’t that been a shock, that the insecticon’s had a culture and were not just a hive mind controlled by Megatron. But really, Sunstreaker should have known better by that point). His poor sentence structure steadily improved as he went over the rules that governed one’s status. ‘Birth’, as Bob insisted on calling it, was the major determiner, but special circumstances could raise one up or down in caste. If a simple soldier did exceptionally well, for example, they could be promoted to nest or queen guard.

Bob had been fairly low on the rung; he’d been originally ‘born’ as a digger but had been reassigned as a scout when Megatron had won over the hive. He’d only been in a few skirmishes, most of them hotly contested underground energon deposits, before being deployed off planet.

“Was sent to space. Traveled to planets, protected the energon stores.”

“And that’s how you ended up here?”

Bob looked away and took a long time answering with ‘yes’. Curious but Sunstreaker didn‘t feel like prying.

It took time but Bob’s grasp of Basic improved until his early, stilted speech was no more. Once he grasped the fundamentals and applied it to what he already knew, Bob could fluently converse as if he’d been brought online with the language.

Sunstreaker had never been one for much conversation but it was nice having someone to talk to.

There was still a blanket of roaring white keeping them trapped inside when Sunstreaker proclaimed Bob done with lessons. They drank the last of the purest quality energon in celebration.

“Thank you,” Bob said as he swirled his clear, bright portion before downing it in one gulp.

Sunstreaker waved him off. He sipped delicately at his own drink, trying to make it last that much longer.

“Also, Sunstreaker.”

“What?”

“You were right. About my speaking prowess.”

Sunstreaker snorted a surprised laugh, pleased.

“Of course I was. You’ll find that I usually am.”

Bob‘s optics squinted in a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

Boredom was a constant companion. Sunstreaker was used to the long lulls between battles but this was a new kind of stillness he didn’t know how to deal with. He was stuck in one room with only one companion, no threat of sudden attack or deployment. Fuel wasn’t as much of a worry as he’d first thought it would be as he and Bob weren’t burning energy other than to stay at operating temp, and the snuggling helped. He recharged until his defrag backlogs were cleared and his backup batteries were full. He couldn’t remember the last time he was so well rested. It felt weird. Good, but weird.

Sunstreaker resisted the urge to pace. That would do nothing but wear a trench in the floor and waste energy.

He eyed his paint supply. He had a lot of stones and seeds that needed to be ground down. There wasn’t much binder left but if he planned ahead and rationed it out he could finish a picture or three.

The wall was as good a canvas as anything. Decided, he lit a small fire and took one of the meshes from the medi-kit, now more dirt than rag, to clean an area for a modest sized canvas.

“What are you doing?” Bob asked. He lounged in the back by the defunct energon distillery, idly picking at his claws.

“Painting.”

“What are you painting?”

Sunstreaker replied with a hum because he didn’t know. He placed his crude paint pots over the fire to liquefy as he thought.

“What’s your favorite place on Cybertron?” he asked.

Bob tilted his head one way and then the other as he thought. “I didn’t see much of the surface before being shipped off-world…but another shared memories of the Rust Sea at sunrise with me.”

“’Shared memories‘? You don’t have a port to jack into.”

Bob buzzed a negative. “Shared as in storytelling. She described it so vividly, it was like I was there standing on the shore as the sun peeked over the waves.”

“I‘ve never been to the sea either.” Sunstreaker had traveled around before the war but only to cities. He’d never been much of an outdoors type, until now.

“Tell me the story.”

He mixed the paints as Bob began the tale - the beach, so dark and quiet that it seemed devoid of life, the only sound the muted crashing of waves. Tall spears of corroded metal jutted out of the sands, their edges ground soft from time. The earliest hints of the sun peaking over the waves, casting warm colors over the bleak landscape and bringing attention to the scurrying wildlife searching for food or shelter.

Bob was very good at storytelling. Probably something to do with the no ports or jacks thing. But soon Sunstreaker’s thoughts were wholly focused on the scene Bob was verbally painting for him to physically capture.

“It’s beautiful,” Bob said once Sunstreaker finished dotting the last highlight.

Adequate was Sunstreaker’s opinion. That was the best he could do with the supplies he had on hand. But it made Bob happy, and seeing a landscape from Cybertron eased the kernel of homesickness lodged in his spark. A bit silly as the painting probably didn’t look anything like the actual place, but that didn’t matter to the either of them. It was a glimpse back home, someplace they might never be again, and even an inaccurate portrait was better than nothing at all.

* * *

“My swarm crashed here many vorns ago,” Bob said. His voice, normally so boisterous that it filled the cave, was quiet, and had an odd beseeching note to it.

Sunstreaker paused coloring Sideswipe’s headshot and cleaned his fingertips. He kept his vocalizer mute, not wanting to interrupt, and gave Bob his full attention.

“We had been tasked with reinforcing a valuable energon depot but something went wrong with the ship’s navigation computer mid-jump, and the forced jump ejection ruined the engines. We found ourselves drifting off course for months. Our energon reserves ran out. We still hadn’t made contact with any ship or station before drifting to this solar system.

“The ship was caught in this planet’s gravity-well. There was nothing I could do, that any of us could do. Many of us, already in stasis from starvation, burned in the crash. Those that survived it didn’t last long the first year. Too weak to fend off hostile life, not enough energon to survive the cold. I managed a bit better than my swarm because I was a digger, I had to be able to withstand extremes. I tried to do what I could to save them but…they all died.”

Bob shuddered, his plates clanking together in loud distress.

“…and then it was just me.”

The sheer amount of despair and loneliness in that statement was overwhelming. So long by himself…Sunstreaker would have gone mad. For a creature built to be communal to be alone for years upon years… No wonder Bob’s social programs had latched onto him with such fierce intensity.

“You’re not alone.” Sunstreaker placed his hand on the back of Bob‘s giant claw. “Not anymore.”

Bob leaned down to nuzzle the top of Sunstreaker’s head. “I know,” he said. “Thank you.”

* * *

Sunstreaker languidly stretched in the warm confines of Bob’s loose embrace. He had no reason to get up and every reason to stay where he was. Something niggled at the edge of his thoughts though, bothersome enough that he couldn’t sink back into a doze.

With a start, he realized that the howling he’d grown so used to had quieted. Its absence was as deafening a roar as its presence had been.

Sunstreaker ignored Bob’s sleepy protests and extracted himself from temptation. The light from his optics barely provided enough illumination to see by but at this point he could traverse the space completely blind.

The cave entrance was buried by snow but weak sunlight filtered through the top once Sunstreaker poked a hole. He had never been so glad to see the sky in his life.

“The storm passed?” Bob asked from behind. Apparently he too had heard the storm’s absence or had merely followed Sunstreaker to try and tempt him back into a snuggle.

“Finally. Wasn’t sure it was ever going to end.” Sunstreaker scoped a handful of snow and deposited it to the side. He motioned for Bob to join him. “Come on. Help me shovel a path. I need to get on my wheels and _drive_.”


	16. Day 424

Without repeating towers, comming was useless outside of 20 mechameters. That wouldn’t do, not for when they needed to know where the other was while they were exploring far from the cave, which was needed more and more as they used up the available resources in the immediate area.

The first few times Sunstreaker tried to wala had Bob chuffing in amusement.

“Like a new-bud,” he said, frame shaking with laughter.

“Shut up,” Sunstreaker growled. “It’s not like I’ve ever had to yodel before.”

Bob nodded, and took a step closer, raising a huge, clawed hand. Sunstreaker didn't even tense, his battle programs quiet.

Bob lightly touched a claw tip to Sunstreaker’s chin.

“You have to move your jaw fast and put more power in the sound. It’s meant to be loud, meant to echo. Uncertainty chokes it. Try again.”

There was different types of walas: longer ones were meant for locations, short for personal status, and a mix of the two could form entire sentences. The amount and duration of ‘la’s changed the meanings while different pitches indicated emphasis.

Sunstreaker had never been great at learning from others, and this proved to be no exception. Bob tried to coach him more after the initial outline but Sunstreaker, so use to any critique as veiled insults, growled his efforts off. Bob huffed and shrugged and went back to building his rock castle.

Putting more volume through his vocalizer wasn’t a problem but trying to vibrate his lower jaw proved to be a challenge that required rooting through sub-systems and deleting hard coded frame limits. Turns out the average Cybertronian jaw hadn’t been designed for the rapid oscillations required for insecticon calls. Go figure.

With his lower jaw now able to unhinge at will, his calls improved. Bob nodded in satisfaction.

“Much better. Now we can go farther. Practice more first, we can try distance tomorrow.”  
\----  
Morning had Bob escorting Sunstreaker to the ship wreckage and supervising as he climbed on top.

“Stay there,” Bob said before he pointed back towards the cliffside. “I‘ll go back to the cave and call. Answer me back.”

“Yes, I get it, I get it.” Sunstreaker waved him off. He worked his jaw as he waited for Bob to make the journey back, getting his gears and vocal box ready for the work ahead.

It didn’t take long before Sunstreaker heard the distinct walala’s rolling over the fields. He was transported back to the beginning of his stay on this planet, could smell the burning fuel in his nose and hear the crackle of the fire. The uncertainty of being alone with an enemy somewhere in the distance.

But he could understand the seemingly random call now. It was a basic call and answer, a general phrase that requested anyone that could answer to answer.

Sunstreaker opened his mouth and responded.


	17. Day 1000

Sunlit days passed until the sky was once again hidden by thick blankets of snow. The snow slowly melted into a long, mild spring that in turn flared hot before sinking back into a cold wasteland. Over and over the seasons cycled by as the pair survived in their new home. Each day was a little easier than the last but there were still new challenges awaiting the next sunrise.

Sunstreaker, with Bob’s help, had figured out the most important challenges like the signs of the changing seasons and how to prepare for each one in kind. He knew what beasts could be hunted for energon and which to avoid at all costs. He memorized the landscapes and the rivers that lead to pools that he could bathe in. He learned where to find the best rocks for pigment, what seeds for binder, which rushes made for the best brushes. All that knowledge was second nature now. And with Bob as indispensable ally and friend, Sunstreaker knew they could overcome any new hurdle that presented itself.

The war was far away, and grew farther every day. Sunstreaker missed Sideswipe, he missed the convenience of society and boxing tournaments. He even missed the war to a certain degree - missed the rush of battle, of being better than his foes.

But he didn’t miss the uncertainty of going into recharge, wondering if he’ll awaken or be killed in an air strike. He didn’t miss groping hands or the whispers that followed in his wake or the envious sneers behind his back for being so much better.

Bob was a thousand times a better person than many of his squad mates had been. Better company too.

It had been months since he’d thought about the beacon, Sunstreaker realized. It was no longer the first thing on his mind when he woke or his last thought when he went down to recharge. It had so slowly lost its priority status that he couldn’t remember when he’d last thought of it. The circuit boards and transistors he’d salvaged from the ship in hope to boost its signal sat gathering dust. He didn’t even know if the emergency beacon still functioned. He never bothered to check. It wasn’t important.

Being a castaway on an uninhabited planet hadn’t been a role Sunstreaker thought he would find a good fit but his life had always been full of surprises. If he was to be stranded here forever, well…he didn’t much mind.


End file.
